


The Host

by orphan_account



Category: Glee
Genre: Dubious Consent, Graphic, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Worm Breeding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-04
Updated: 2012-08-27
Packaged: 2017-11-11 09:56:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/477286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Burt Hummel is a hobby breeder of anal-pleasure worms and his son is the perfect host.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Arrival

Originally posted to the Glee Kink Meme [here](http://glee-kink-meme.livejournal.com/32650.html?thread=44137610).

Based on this prompt by the talented jemima_oxford ( **NOTE** : there are story spoilers in the prompt. Scroll past the italics to avoid):

_There's a type of worm that nests in the host animal's anus, grows to maturity, then lays its eggs inside the host. The worm is highly prized for bedroom fun because it stimulates the prostate.  
  
Burt gets hold of one, ties Kurt down to the bed, and lubes his asshole and feeds the worm in. It's uncomfortable and gross, Kurt is crying and asking his Dad to stop, but a few seconds later the worm is wriggling against Kurt's prostate. Burt spreads Kurt's asscheeks so he can watch the tail of the worm sticking out, wiggling as the worm wriggles inside Kurt's body and stretches his asshole. When Kurt comes, it's the most powerful orgasm he's ever had.   
  
Burt cleans the tears from Kurt's face and comforts him, Kurt's all shaky and weak from coming so hard. Burt tells him how well he's doing, and that they have to take care of the worm so it can grow (he can even give the worm a name).  
  
Days pass and the worm grows little by little, and Burt pulls it out of Kurt's anus sometimes to give him a break, and the worm's always wriggling and desperate to get back inside. Burt puts a pillow under Kurt's hips and fucks his ass, getting off on how nicely Kurt's hole takes him because the worm has stretched and lubed him. Kurt is humiliated by turned on. Burt comes in him then guides the worm to Kurt's crack and lets it crawl back inside. He talks dirty, saying how the worm will eat Burt's come inside of Kurt. Kurt feels so dirty for getting off on what Burt says, and for moaning and loving how the worm feels wiggling its way determinedly into him.  
  
There can be times, in the night, when the worm starts to wriggle and Kurt can't do anything, and Kurt comes just from his prostate being stimulated, but the worm keeps going until Kurt gets hard again.  
  
Finally, the worm is ready to have its eggs. It slides out of Kurt's ass, turns around, and inserts its back end into him, pumping him full of eggs.  
  
The worm then slips out and dies, leaving the nest of eggs inside. Burt spreads Kurt's ass cheeks and is so aroused by the sight of one of the eggs visible inside, he jerks off on Kurt's stretched asshole.  
  
Kurt has to keep the eggs in for 24 hours, then he pushes them out, it's a long process.  
  
The sticky collection of eggs start to hatch into little worms which Burt puts in an incubator. Maybe Burt is actually a breeder of these worms and intends to sell them on and he loves using Kurt for that purpose._

 

\--

 

This season’s breeder worm arrives by overnight delivery, packed carefully in a sealed styrofoam case. It’s a little early, but once the worm is ready to nest, Burt’s supplier doesn’t call to consult his host’s high school schedule. The worm just gets packed in dry ice and flown to Burt’s door as quickly as possible.   
  
Breeder worms cost a small fortune, but just like the past four summers, Burt plans to make back his investment plus a hefty profit. Kurt is a model host; young, healthy, responsive. There are few hosts in the mid-east that produce the consistent high-quality that Kurt can.   
  
As Burt’s reputation grew for breeding only the thickest, most energetic worms, he’d been able to sell the last two crops sight-unseen. Before the eggs had even hatched he’d had buyers lined up, deposits paid, and even a waiting list for a possible second harvest.   
  
Burt cuts the tape seal around the lid of the case with a flick of his pocket knife. A cascade of mist spills out and over the kitchen table as he carefully lifts the lid. He just wants a peek; the worm will need to stay on ice until he has Kurt prepared.   
  
The translucent white of the worm is just barely visible through the layers of medical-grade plastic sheeting that envelops it. It looks like a good breeder so far; thick in the middle, both ends tapering flat and blunt like a squid tentacle. Whole and unblemished, as far as Burt can tell. Should make for a promising crop.

The worm is still and unmoving, distorted by the plastic sheeting, but just its presence here in his kitchen has Burt stiffening in his overalls. The worm will keep until Kurt gets home from school, it’ll have to for Burt to make the final preparations in the basement, but Burt might need to rub one out like a goddamn teenager just so he can function.   
  
\--  
  
Burt feels mildly guilty each time he has to ambush his son. It’s a means to an end though, and an end where Kurt is happiest, despite his protests and arguments against disappearing off his little social grid for two weeks.   
  
When he was younger it was harder for him to accept the soft restraints necessary to keep him prone and ripe for hosting the worm. But as he went tripping into puberty, he submitted more easily, likely due to his anxious teenage libido welcoming the two-week stimulation marathon.   
  
Never the less, Burt has a tiny window to get the worm into Kurt. To avoid any time wasted by Kurt’s negotiating, Burt sedates Kurt as soon as he walks in the door, a pelotalon-soaked washcloth held to his mouth and nose.   
  
He carries Kurt downstairs cradled in his arms. At 15 Kurt is still a slip of a kid, so tiny when Burt catches their reflections side-by-side. His hair smells like apples and flowers under Burt’s chin, and Burt’s heart trips as he lays Kurt down, revealing himself to be even tinier under his multitude of scarves and sweaters.   
  
His son is heartbreakingly beautiful, naked but for the sheepshear and leather restraints that Burt gently buckles around his upper arms, around his slim, soft thighs. The straps of the restraints run off the bed, securing Kurt to the clean sheets, but still giving him a little room to adjust without agitating the worm. Burt will turn and rearrange him often during the gestation period, but for the insertion he has Kurt’s legs up and wide, his little ass tipped up and supported by a special padded block.   
  
“Just perfect,” Burt mutters to himself, rolling his stool to the foot of the bed and running his hands lightly down the back of Kurt’s thighs, pulling Kurt’s ass cheeks even further apart. His little hole is a rosier pink than the flawless skin of his thighs and ass, puckered and neat, perfect. As if Kurt would let his body settle for anything less than perfection.   
  
Burt’s mouth waters, knowing that the pucker will be gorgeously stretched and swollen and red and gaping by the end of the egg expulsion. Photos. This year he should take photos.   
  
Burt pulls the little cart with his supplies closer, beside Kurt’s dangling right foot with its little pink toes, relaxed in sleep. Soft cloths, wet and dry. Lubricant. A clean speculum. Latex gloves, though he likely won’t use them. His son is clean and sleek and Burt has been waiting nearly a year to touch him again, to feel the smooth, hot channel of his little anus. Stretch it and rub it with his fingers. Make Kurt slick and ready for the worm, rousing and whimpering while he’s plugged by his father’s bare hand.   
  
The  _snick_  of the lube cap is what has Kurt’s eyes fluttering open, blinking in the dim light. Burt keeps the basement dark during the hosting, to keep Kurt calm and docile while the worm wriggles and grows within him. Just a single swivel lamp that he has trained between Kurt’s legs, so Burt has plenty of light for inspections, so he doesn’t accidentally hurt his son, so he doesn’t miss a single beautiful detail.  
  
“What...Dad?” Kurt croaks, and the leather of the restraint system creaks.

 

 


	2. The Insertion

“Hey, kid,” Burt says, putting down the lube, giving Kurt’s knee a little squeeze and getting up to squat up by Kurt’s head.   
  
Kurt blinks slowly, licking his lips and swallowing a couple of times.   
  
“You okay? You want some water?” Burt asks quietly. Kurt is conscious enough to shake his head with confusion.  
  
“Where am I?” he whispers hoarsely, and lifts his hand to rub at his eyes. The restraints let him get his hand to his face but Kurt gasps when he feels the pull of leather on his arm, realisation visibly hitting him.   
  
“No! Oh, no-no-no. It’s too soon...Dad, please, it’s too soon,” Kurt begs, using what give he has to grasp at Burt’s rolled-up sleeve. Burt takes his hand, rubs Kurt’s forearm soothingly with the other.   
  
“Hey now, none of that, okay? I’m sorry, it sucks, I know, but you know it can’t wait,” Burt tells him, and it hurts to see Kurt’s eyes growing wet and shiny with frustrated tears.   
  
“But...exams...my friends..” Kurt sniffs, his face disproportionately tragic considering what he’s worried about. Teenagers. Burt bites back a gruff, “ _toughen up, kid_ ” and tries to be gentle as he scrapes his thumb under each of Kurt’s eyes, wiping away the spill of tears.   
  
“I’ll take care of it. Don’t you worry. I’ll call the school and you can tell me which little friends you want me to text, okay? You just relax. I don’t want you to stress out.”  
  
Kurt cranks the big, desperate kitten eyes on him full blast.   
  
“Please Dad, I’m not ready. I’m..I’m..I don’t like it. Inside me. The  _worm_ ,” he whispers, like it’s hard to say it out loud. “...Do I have to?”   
  
Ah, there goes Burt’s heart, fracturing to the sounds of Kurt’s pleading. It’s only the memories of Kurt’s blissed-out face, his wanton spasms of release, that give Burt the strength to leave his son tied to the bed.  
  
Burt puts a chaste kiss on Kurt’s forehead, and Kurt blushes. He’s always embarrassed before the insertion, naked and spread in front of his  _Dad_ , like Burt never changed his diapers, never came into the exam room with him for his yearly checkup.   
  
“I’m going to take care of you, I promise. You can do this. You’re going to do a great job, you know? You’re going to make those worms big and fat and happy, okay? And it’s going to feel good soon. It’ll feel so good, okay? You remeber, right kiddo?”   
  
A reluctant, tearful nod.   
  
“Okay, then. We’ll get it over with quick, okay? You’re going to be out of here before you know it, and you can take all your little friends to the mall and get whatever you want, okay?”   
  
A sniff and a nod, and Kurt closes his eyes, mouth trembling.   
  
Burt stands up, squeezing Kurt’s hand again before unclamping it from his own and putting it down on the bed. Kurt looks up at him, resigned,  _beautiful_ , spread under the spotlight of the lamp, his pulse jumping in his delicate throat.   
  
Burt sits down again, rolling over to the incubator. The timing is good, the worm starting to show signs of life under the heat lamp when Burt peaks through the perforated cover. He’ll have just enough time to prep Kurt before the worm is affected by the exposure.   
  
Kurt has closed his eyes again, so Burt says, “Okay, I’m going to start,” so he isn’t surprised. He still jumps at the feel of Burt’s hand on his thigh, just over where it creases to his ass. Burt’s hand looks huge there, and he could probably cup the entirety of Kurt’s ass in both palms if he wanted to.   
  
“Shhhh,” Burt soothes him, rubbing the skin near Kurt’s asshole with his thumb. “You cold, kiddo?”   
  
Kurt doesn’t answer him until Burt’s thumb stills.   
  
“I’m alright,” he whispers.   
  
Burt picks up the tube of lube again, and a tingle of excitement pulses out from his belly, skittering through his body, all the way to his fingers and toes. Kurt needs his Dad right now. Needs support and love and caring attention. He doesn’t need to know how excited Burt is. How much he’s been anticipating this moment. How often he thinks about the little hole illuminated in front of him.   
  
He lubes up the first two fingers of his right hand first, so generous that the lube drips down into his palm. Then he leans forward and in one swift move uses the fingers of his dry hand to spread Kurt’s cheeks a little more and blows gently over his son’s anus.

“Dad!” Kurt squeaks, his asshole clenching and releasing in pulses. Burt catches it on a release, when his sphincter is most relaxed, and hooks his finger in.   
  
Burt has to turn his head into his shoulder for a minute, he’s so overcome. Finally. Finally he gets to touch, to feel the most intimate and pretty part of Kurt. Just the tip of his finger and already Kurt is responding so wonderfully, his little asshole sucking at Burt, as though craving more.   
  
Burt clears his throat, tries to make his face blank so Kurt won’t look down his own body and see his father jizzing his pants between his own legs.   
  
“Deep breath, kiddo,” he says, and takes one himself, then slides the rest of his finger in.   
  
He hopes that Kurt’s gasp masks his own involuntary groan. Kurt is warm, no,  _hot_  inside, soft and smooth and tight, so so tight.   
  
Burt shifts desperately on his stool, the vinyl squeaking. Kurt. He needs to take care of Kurt now, like he promised. He can take care of himself later, when he’ll have an entire treasure trove of imagery to jack to.   
  
He starts moving his finger, getting Kurt’s asshole good and lubricated. He’ll need to be thorough; this year’s worm is big for an adolescent: eight inches long with about three inches at its widest girth. Bigger than any cock (and doesn’t that thought just piss Burt off) that his son will likely run into once he starts dating. And it’ll only get bigger.   
  
Burt slides his second finger in, making Kurt pant another gasp. He looks up, and meets Kurt’s eyes, wide and awed before Kurt quickly turns his head on the pillow, wincing bashfully. Ah, that’s why: Kurt’s little cock, which had been nestled into itself above his hairless, smooth balls, is peaking up, rising with the slow, twisting push of his father’s fingers.   
  
Burt takes his time, regularly stopping to add more lube and to gently pull and stretch at Kurt’s opening in particular. The only sounds echoing in the basement is their breathing and the squelch of lube as Burt adds a third finger.   
  
Kurt isn’t relaxing the way Burt would like him to, his asshole still clenching too hard, his thighs tight with tension. Burt loves it, would happily spend the entire night working Kurt open, relishing the draw of Kurt’s tight little boy cunt on his fingers, but that’s not going to make the insertion easy for Kurt.   
  
“Shhhh, relax, kiddo,” Burt tells him, rubbing at his thighs, and Kurt tenses up even further. Even his little cock is stiff, a pretty pink branch smeared wet at the tip.   
  
Burt considers Kurt’s cock, the way it’s bobbing and twitching with the movement of his fingers. Burt can do this. For Kurt. He can be impersonal and efficient and quick if it gets Kurt to relax, to open up enough so that the speculum and insertion won’t be painful.   
  
He scoops up some of the lube dripping from Kurt’s asshole and quickly rubs his fingers together, coating them the best he can one-handed. Then, without over-thinking it, he makes a loose fist around Kurt’s penis, the head of it peeking up over the top.   
  
“Ohhh!” Kurt cries, his hips bucking up, working himself between Burt’s fingers in his asshole and Burt’s hand around his cock. “Dad, oh,  _Dad_ ,” he sobs, sounding torn between humiliation and release.   
  
“Shhh, shhhh, it’s okay, I’ve got you,” Burt urges him, and works Kurt’s lovely little cock as fast as he can go, tightening his fist and stretching his fingers inside of his little boy.

He can’t watch his own hand, he can’t watch Kurt’s face, it’s all too much, and definitely too much of what he really wants, which is not to ease his son’s discomfort...but to taste the pure little spill of seamen jerking and sputtering from Kurt’s penis, slipping down into Burt’s fist as he slows his frantic pumping, easing Kurt through his release.   
  
Burt lets go completely when Kurt whines low and he melts in his restraints. Burt can already feel the success of getting Kurt off through the fingers still working his hole open. He’s almost  _stretchy_ , primed and finally ready for the next step.   
  
Burt reluctantly eases his hand out of Kurt, savoring every sucking moment of his fingers sliding through Kurt’s sphincter. He’s wet and shiny all around his asshole, a puddle of the thin lube collected on the padding below his ass. Burt gives himself just a few soft caresses to the edges of Kurt’s stretched hole before wiping off his fingers and reaching for the speculum.   
  
He quickly lubes up the plastic instrument too, and positions it at Kurt’s relaxed little hole before steadily pushing in.   
  
“Ah,” Kurt pants, the hard plastic edges more invasive than his father’s warm fingers.   
  
“Sorry, kiddo,” Burt murmurs, and doesn’t prolong his discomfort, just starts twisting the knob at the base of the speculum, cranking it open.  
  
Kurt’s slick insides slowly reveal themselves in the light of the lamp, dark pink and shiny like hard candy. Burt can’t breathe it’s so beautiful. He carefully twists the knob until Kurt is fully exposed, dilated wide enough to feed the worm in smoothly.   
  
Before he can stop himself, Burt dips one finger into the gaping stretch, reverently touching the slick wall of Kurt’s cavity. Kurt whimpers.   
  
“Christ,” he sighs, trying to get himself together. A vision flashes in his mind: inserting his own thick cock between the tongs of the speculum, using it to rub Kurt’s slick walls, shooting into the shadowy depths of him. Burt puts his face to his shoulder again, breathes until he has control, until he knows he won’t shove his own pants down, pull out his dick, and shove it into his beautiful, helpless son.   
  
He wipes off his hands again, dries them, and quickly snaps on a pair of gloves. The worm is ready; it’s coiling and twisting around itself in the incubator when he opens the lid. He lifts it out with both hands; he’s learned his lesson there. Never underestimate the worm’s strength and slipperiness.   
  
Kurt watches him from his prostrate position on the bed, breathing sharp and quick, his hairline damp with sweat. His lips are trembling, his face waring between a look of anguish and a look of surrender.   
  
The worm is already excreting: a clear, odorless gloss. It tries curling around Burt’s fist, nosing at his fingers, his wrist. It senses a host, senses the warm, nourishing snug of Kurt’s hole, wants it. Burt only has to hold the nose of the worm to the base of the speculum before it’s straining desperately, ready to inch down Kurt’s ass.   
  
“Here goes,” Burt mutters, and eases his grip on the worm, letting it slither out of his fists and into Kurt. It pushes itself in, like a mouse under a door, bunching and stretching, its tail wriggling with delight.   
  
“Ah! Ah!” Kurt cries, his back arching as much as it can in the restraints, the worm sending him into a rictus of stimulation as it burrows further into his ass, past the speculum and lodging itself just short of completely disappearing.   
  
Burt carefully slides out the speculum and the swollen mouth of Kurt’s anus closes over the tail of the worm. The insertion is complete, but Kurt’s work has just begun.


	3. The Host

Burt doesn’t like leaving the house for too long during a breeding. Even though truthfully, there isn’t much that might happen. Especially not while he’s gone for a measly hour to check in at the garage. The house is secure, Kurt is safely and comfortably restrained, and he has everything he needs within reaching distance. 

But Burt doesn’t like leaving Kurt alone. Doesn’t want Kurt to feel abandoned or disconnected while he’s in the depths of so much sensation. Wants to keep Kurt calm and sedate, to better keep the worm from getting excited too. Wants Kurt to know that he’s loved and appreciated, that Burt is so, so proud of him.

Besides, Burt wants to take care of Kurt. Be there to blot his brow with a cool cloth, and tenderly wipe away the clear, slippery secretion from his bottom. Burt doesn’t even mind reading to him while the worm sleeps. Kurt lies on his side, fingers curled by his mouth, sleepily watching Burt peer down his reading glasses and lick his finger to turn a page. The worm makes Kurt pliant and soft, and Burt relishes the way Kurt lets him cup his arms, his skinny long legs, sponge them clean of sweat and heat. 

No matter how many Friday night dinners they make the effort to have, no matter how many show choir recitals Burt attends, Kurt is growing up. Barrelling unstoppably through teenagerism, becoming his own man, testing his independence. Burt savors every moment he can here in the warm, perpetual twilight of the basement, Kurt’s favorite records playing softly for just the two of them. It’s never more just the two of them than during a breeding. 

So Burt feels annoyance when Freddy calls his cell phone while Burt is carefully pulling fresh sheets under Kurt. He’d left the number on the whiteboard in the shop under a thrice-underlined FOR EMERGENCIES ONLY. He has his phone set to vibrate, but even that is too harsh, disrupting the dim, humid calm. It makes Kurt startle. 

“Sorry, kiddo,” Burt shushes him with a hand to Kurt’s bare hip. He takes the call at the top of the stairs, agrees to come in to deal with the hysterical woman with the busted transmission, who is convinced that Freddy is trying to cheat her. If Kurt is available, Burt likes to sic him on these women. Most of the time Kurt will have them calmed and charmed with just a few choice compliments and sympathetic tsks. 

He leaves Kurt drowsing on his stomach, thighs restrained and spread just enough so that his cock and tight little balls nestle between them against the sheets. Burt hooks his cap on his head and palms the small of Kurt’s back in farewell, but Kurt is too far into sleep to notice. 

\--

Back home, it isn’t until he’s already in the door, shucking off his boots, that he faintly hears Kurt’s cry. Burt won’t remember his hurried flight through the house, or throwing himself down the stairs. 

Kurt lies where Burt left him, awake now, flushed and straining against his restraints. His eyes are winced shut, mouth open and whining against the bed, his sleepy langor gone. The tail of the worm, thick and white, is spilling out from its nest, making Kurt’s little ass cheeks bulge apart. The nubby, stunt of tail whips around with the force of the worm’s writhing inside of Kurt’s gut, shiny with excretion, flipping and slapping at Kurt’s purnium. 

In contrast, Kurt’s slim cock is so erect and and straining that it’s pin straight, pointing down his tense thighs, his balls clutched high and tight at the base of it. 

Burt goes swiftly to Kurt’s side, slipping off his jean jacket and letting it drop to the floor. There is not much he can do, not when the worm has itself so worked up that removing it might damage it. Best to just let the fit run its course. Let the worm’s squealy struggles pleasure Kurt, even if it’s riding beside the border to pain territory.

Burt pets Kurt’s back, shushing his hoarse groans and pants. Kurt’s fingers scrabble and dig at the mattress, making the lean muscles under the milky skin of his back flex beautifully. 

“Shhhh, you’re doing so good, kiddo. Doesn’t that feel nice? Just let it feel good,” he tries to assure Kurt, distracted by the sight of Kurt’s tight asshole trying to cinch around the thick tail of the worm. But the worm is too firm, too healthy after a couple of days in Kurt’s rich body. It stretches Kurt’s asshole, dark pink and smoothed around it, like a crater the worm is erupting from. 

Burt puts a hand on Kurt’s shoulder blade, trying his best to keep up the distracting talk, to let Kurt know that he’s there, soothe him through the tremors the worm sends shooting through his defenseless little body. 

“So great, kiddo. You’re doing so great. Don’t fight it, just let it all out,” Burt hums. Some of it must get through to Kurt because his wailing gets a little louder, and he stops straining against the leather, instead working his pelvis in little circles, rubbing his cock against the sheet. 

“Yes, good boy. Good boy, Kurt,” Burt says, rubbing Kurt’s thigh too. The worm responds to Kurt’s cooperation, the tail going stiff and and quivering. Kurt’s whines hitch and catch when the tail starts plunging and rubbing in his hole, like the worm is rippling and furling with joy inside of Kurt. 

“That’s it, that’s it,” he murmurs, leaning in closer, close enough to see every sucking clench of Kurt’s opening around the worm, shiny and staggeringly beautiful. Burt is transfixed. They’ve never bred such an energetic and responsive worm, and he’s never seen Kurt so possessed by one. It’s wreaking havoc in his pants, that’s for goddamn sure. Burt is irrationally jealous of the worm, this goddamn blue ribbon worm, who gets to nest and thrive in Kurt and now also gets to feel Kurt contract and convulse around it too. 

“Doing so great, Kurt. God, kiddo, you look...so gorgeous,” Burt rasps. 

Burt sits up, dismayed. He wasn’t supposed to say that out loud. Kurt isn’t supposed to have any suspicion that his Dad might use the image of Kurt’s perfect little asshole stretched and sucking on a wide white worm tail to get off for the rest of Burt’s life. 

But Kurt is bowing under the constriction of the restraints, whimpering and struggling, making the worm quiver violently, the tip of it licking and flipping Kurt’s ass cheek. 

“Ngggahh,” Kurt craws, his legs spasming and his cock spitting down the insides of his smooth, bare thighs. 

\--

Burt doesn’t say anything as Kurt comes down, just returns to gently stroking his legs, his back. The worm finally relaxes, and the hank of tail retracts back into Kurt, giving Burt a final, earth-shattering view of Kurt’s reddened asshole mouthing around it as it pulls in.

Burt unbuckles Kurt and gently turns him over, well practiced in shifting Kurt’s limbs without jostling the quieted worm. He arranges him comfortably and adjusts the straps so Kurt is lying limp on his back on the clean side of the bed. Burt then fills a wash bucket with warm water and uses a soft cloth to clean him up.

“You did great, bud. That worm just loves you, doesn’t he?” 

Kurt gives Burt a shy, tired smile, turning his face into his shoulder. 

Burt wants to chuckle, but he doesn’t. He wants Kurt to feel good; Kurt deserves to reap the benefits of all his hard work. Burt doesn’t want him to fall back into bashfulness.

Burt swipes the cloth over Kurt’s legs and up in between his asscheeks as impersonally as possible while still being gentle and thorough. 

Kurt starts to grow again, his little penis getting stiff and curious before Burt is even done with his legs. Usually it tucks up into itself, even with the sedation effect of the worm, Kurt is always vaguely humiliated by his Dad having to clean him up there. 

“Is it moving again?” Burt asks kindly, making a little face of sympathy at Kurt. But Kurt is blushing, looking down at his own bare shoulder demurely. 

“No.” Burt barely hears him whisper. 

He tenses as Burt brushes the edge of his ballsack with the cloth. Burt does it again, he’s almost to that area of Kurt anyways, and Kurt’s erection grows some more, swaying as he fidgets with unease. 

Burt moves the cloth gently over Kurt’s little cock, and Kurt moans when Burt uses his free hand to hold it gingerly as his wipes it down. Kurt’s cock is warm and the skin is impossibly soft, taut and young.

Burt isn’t sure what to do. He wants to help his boy. They’re too far into this together for Burt to leave him hard and aching in the air, waiting for the worm to get excited again. 

But it wouldn’t be just helping Kurt. Not with the way his own dick is aggressively swelling again in his jeans, aching with every soft caress of the cloth to Kurt’s perfect little cock. 

It’s Kurt who spurs him into a decision. 

“Dad, please,” he begs, big eyes glazed and staring down at Burt’s hands. His little tongue rolls out, licking his bottom lip unconsciously. 

The cloth drops from Burt’s fingers, slithering down between Kurt’s legs. 

Kurt’s head cranes forward with a gasp when Burt starts fisting him. Burt moves his hand smoothly and firmly, only stopping to spit discreetly into his palm so as not to hurt Kurt’s tender cock. 

Both their eyes are fixated intently on Burt’s fingers, his thumb rubbing gentle shapes around the softly molded head of Kurt’s penis. So Kurt doesn’t see it, doesn’t react when Burt uses his other hand to dig into his own fly, pull out his wet dick and fist it with the same strokes. 

It’s a riot of sensation, and the roaring build of pleasure in his head feels like it could deafen the sweet calm of the basement. Burt’s breath huffs in frantic, grunting gusts, matching the slick, squelching beat of his fists. 

“Ngghh, Dad, yes, pleeeeease,” Kurt sobs deliriously, his neck long and white, head thrown back as he comes, his skinny little frame jerking in the restraints. 

Burt is tipping over the edge of his own orgasm, his stomach already swooping with the sensation, no going back. With little thought, he gives Kurt’s spent cock a few more long, milking pulls, then burrows his messy hand down between Kurt’s legs, fingers searching. Just one touch of Kurt’s sweet, swollen little asshole and Burt is coming violently, bent almost in two, shooting heavy loads up his own chest. 

\--

Burt tucks himself away, takes off his come-stained flannel shirt, and cleans Kurt up again. He can’t get the image of Kurt’s surprised eyes watching his Dad’s big cock poke out of his jeans, Kurt’s pelvis distended because Burt’s hand was stuffed up under it.

Burt isn’t one to beat around the bush. He finishes restrapping Kurt and then stands by the head of the bed. His hand comes down automatically to brush Kurt’s hair, just like he always does, but then hesitates. He doesn’t want to touch Kurt if Kurt doesn’t want him to now. 

But Kurt frowns up at him, obviously expecting the touch, even tilts his head a little in confusion. So Burt gives it to him; he’d suffer much more than rejection to make sure Kurt knows how much he’s cherished. 

“Hey kid, I’m sorry,” he says gruffly. Kurt frowns harder. 

“Why?” he asks softly, as though he’s actually confused. Maybe he just wants to make Burt say it.

“I shouldn’t have done that, you know? I shouldn’t be touching you like that, and I sure as hell shouldn’t be touching myself. I was outta line. Won’t happen again, okay? You’re doing so good, kiddo.” 

Burt barely finishes before Kurt is interrupting him, blinking away at his drowsiness. 

“No, Dad, it’s alright,” he protests, hand coming up to reach for Burt’s but getting caught by the restraint. Burt takes the hand and Kurt squeezes his fingers weakly. 

“No bud, it’s really not. I took advantage of you and I’m so sorry,” Burt tells him, stroking his hair again. His son is beautiful, so perfect. Burt doesn’t feel as guilty as he really ought to. He isn’t trying to take anything from Kurt. He only wants to give. Only wants Kurt to have everything. 

“It’s not taking advantage if I liked it.” Kurt levels Burt with his best inarguable teenage tone. Burt snorts. 

“Oh yeah? I guess you did like it, didn’t you.” 

Kurt smiles like Mona Lisa’s cat, his bashfulness in retreat. “I like when I’m not the only one naked and losing my mind down here,” he says, hesitantly. He looks up at his Dad, eyes honest. “It can get lonely, you know.” 

Burt gets it. A little balance on the humiliation scale. Leave out the fact that Kurt is his son, that Burt gets off like a rocket launch when he touches his pleasure-drunk helpless son, and it almost seems fair. 

“I don’t want you to feel lonely. I’m not going anywhere,” Burt tells him, thumbing at Kurt’s cheek, painted with a broad swath of flush. 

“I know.” Kurt’s lashes are long on his cheeks as he blinks slowly. “So if you’re not going anywhere, you should be naked too,” he says, sleepy but sly. 

Burt considers it. The basement is bordering on a sauna just to keep Kurt comfortable and the worm protected. It wouldn’t be so bad, except there’d be no way to disguise his perpetual boner at the sight of Kurt strapped and still, the perfect little host for the growing worm in his anus. 

But already he loves this: Kurt teasing him like usual, the imbalance of shame leveled and forgotten. If it’s easy as taking off his clothes too, Burt will happily get undressed. 

Nodding, he steps back from the bed, pulling off his henley and shucking off his jeans and underwear. Kurt watches, rapt, his smooth eyebrows up and his mouth open and pleased. He reaches, his arm restrained, so his fingers only brush Burt’s dick, hanging big and thick under the slight swell of his belly, still tacky. 

“Oh, Dad...” Kurt whispers, obviously pleased, almost giggling. 

“Okay then, get some rest,” Burt says, rolling his eyes and stepping back to tidy up. He’s aware that it’s been many years since he was worth looking at, but it’s Kurt. The fact his ass has lost some of its firmness since his college football days doesn’t matter. This is about them, about Kurt happy and smiling and calm. 

Kurt obediently closes his eyes and Burt puts his hand low, low on Kurt’s abdomen, where it’s starting to swell with the girth of the growing worm. Kurt hums and Burt takes his hand away, kissing the smooth skin there.


	4. The Inspection

Removing the worm is no easy feat, but Burt has a fair amount of practice and a few tricks up his sleeve. But while he has the physical logistics of the inspection process down pat, Kurt is still a wild card.   
  
The problem isn’t his cooperation; the worm’s secretions make him as docile and pliant as a newborn kitten, all hot loose limbs and sleepy nuzzling. It’s just that the closer they get to the end of the breeding, the more... _emotional_..Kurt becomes. Sometimes an extraction makes him angry and petulant, resentful of the whole ordeal. Sometimes he’s happy; content and relieved to have the respite. But more often than not, he becomes weepy and anxious, alternating between curling in on himself and weakly stretching to watch Burt bent over the incubator.  
  
The secret is coaxing the worm out - with a little help from gravity -  _not_  forcibly removing it. Burt starts by unstrapping Kurt and clearing the bed of restraints. Kurt lets him, watching Burt move competently from one side of the bed to the other, his hooded eyes on the flop of Burt’s dick as Burt works, big and drawn to the side in its half-hard state.   
  
Burt tries to temper the naughty thrill being naked gives him by reminding himself that the safety of both Kurt and the worm are at stake. But he still loves it, padding quietly through the soft light around the bed, his bare thigh brushing Kurt’s hip giving him a delicious shiver.   
  
Kurt is nestled on his stomach in flamingo position, so Burt kneels up behind Kurt on the bed. He shuffles between Kurt’s spread legs, and gently gathers Kurt up to his chest. The nakedness is a nearly crippling distraction; Kurt is light but pliable, resting back against Burt like he’s sinking into a big stuffed armchair. His warm back is fluid against Burt’s chest, his legs spread over Burt’s lap. Burt tries to keep his dick from rutting against the small of Kurt’s back, but Kurt undulates feebly against it, humming a purr. His head flops back on Burt’s shoulder, his hair tickling Burt’s neck when Kurt turns his face into it.   
  
“You good, kiddo?” Burt asks him, running his hands soothingly down Kurt’s front, up and down, collar bone to his soft little penis, long slow strokes.   
  
“I can feel it..,” Kurt says softly, and Burt can too. He cups his hand low on Kurt’s stomach and the worm surges within Kurt, agitated that its host is upright, sensing that it might have to emerge and defend. Kurt winces at the movement, and Burt meets the next swell with a push of his fingers.   
  
“There it is. Alright, let’s get ‘im out.”   
  
Kurt whines into Burt’s neck, and Burt steels himself against his son’s discomfort, pushing at the worm again. The quicker he can get the worm out, the less it will toss and buck within Kurt.  
  
Burt leans back a little, making sure Kurt is fully supported. He likes this, both of them naked, Kurt so firmly locked to him, their connection so solid. It feels better, right. So with one hand kneading at Kurt’s stomach, just above the base of his penis, Burt reaches the other hand under Kurt, feeling for his slick opening.   
  
“Ahhh,” Burt can’t help his little burst of held breath. Kurt is tender but tight under his fingers, clenched. Burt rubs at the wrinkled skin, nimbly using a couple of fingers to hold Kurt’s cheeks apart.   
  
“Come on, kiddo. Be a good boy and relax, okay?” he urges Kurt, rubbing his thumb over Kurt’s navel.   
  
“‘m trying,” Kurt sniffs into Burt’s neck, his hands gracelessly clutching to the sides of Burt’s thighs.   
  
“I know, I know. You’re doing such a good job. Just a little more, shhhh,” Burt says, and ah, there it is, the worm is backing indignantly out of Kurt, making Kurt’s mouth fall open and his little asshole stretch around the worm’s emergence.   
  
Burt wants to look, is dying to look, wants to stuff his fingers up around the worm, into Kurt’s anus, feel the worm while it’s in its tight happy nest. But instead he tickles the worm, giving it harmless little pinches, incensing it enough to back right out.“Ahhgg, Dad!” Kurt pants, and no wonder, the worm is massive, the thickest part of it inching out of Kurt’s hole almost the size of Burt’s forearm.   
  
“Jesus,” Burt swears, leaning forward and dropping Kurt back down to the bed as quickly and as gently as possible. He sits back up to the sight of Kurt on his knees and elbows, ass up and presenting the most gorgeous worm Burt’s ever seen, almost pearlescent in its health.   
  
Burt guides the rest of the worm out with both hands, helping it emerge from the tight pink suckle of Kurt’s hole. Kurt looks stretched to the limit, shiny with the worm’s lubrication, smooth and flawless, then drawing closed as Burt pulls the worm fully away from Kurt’s ass, keening a wail from Kurt.   
  
The worm struggles in his hands, exponentially stronger after a week within his little boy. It stretches and yearns back towards Kurt’s hole, wanting nothing more than to retreat to the safety of its nest now that it’s been tricked and captured into the cruel world outside of Kurt.   
  
Burt carefully places the cranky worm in the incubator, closing the lid. He’ll take care of Kurt first, of course, but he can already tell that the worm will pass inspection with flying colors, its back end distended with a gorgeously large clutch of eggs.   
  
Kurt is still collapsed in front of him, and Burt pets his shoulders, bends back over him and kisses the sweaty hair at Kurt’s neck, shushing him as Kurt weeps into his hands.  
  
“Oh kiddo, sweetheart, you did so good. I am so damn proud of you, taking this worm. You’re making him so big and so strong, you’re so, so good, angel,” Burt croons, kissing Kurt’s cheek, barely aware of how ridiculous he must sound, only wanting Kurt to stop crying, to enjoy this little break. He feels as drained as Kurt must, and he only had to  _watch_  the massive worm emerge.   
  
Burt crouches over him, holding his son and murmuring to him until Kurt’s sobs lessen, until he’s just sniffling into the bed, the worst of the crying over. He wants to give Kurt more time, ensure that he feels calm and ready, but the worm will harm itself trying to escape the incubator, desperate to return to its nest.   
  
So he unpeels himself from Kurt, cool air hitting his chest and groin. Sitting back, he places a clean pillow under Kurt, then cups Kurt’s hips and gently lowers his pelvis to the bed so that he’s more comfortable for the inspection. He rubs the hips under his hands, thumbs caressing Kurt’s cheeks. Kurt trembles with exhaustion.   
  
“That okay, kiddo?” he asks, and Kurt slowly peeks back over his shoulder, face still wet with tears. He nods, shifting a little, legs wider, displaying his youthful flexibility. Burt slips off the end of the bed himself, back onto his stool, his knees not being what they used to be, taxed from kneeling for so long.   
  
“Alright then, let’s see what we have here,” Burt says, pulling the lamp closer to Kurt’s ass. Kurt’s penis is tucked up under him, but his balls nestle deliciously between his legs, shiny from the leak of lubrication from his asshole. Burt rolls them through his fingers, slippery and firm, and Kurt hiccups.   
  
“Still good, bud?” Burt asks, gently,  _gently_  feeling the solid shape of each testicle with his thumb, smoothing out the peachy-smooth skin of Kurt’s ballsack.  
  
“Yeah, Dad,” Kurt sniffs, clenching so that his balls pull high and tight in Burt’s hand. Burt wants to cup and caress them longer, bring Kurt off again and feel them jump and twitch as he pumps through coming. They are beautiful, like little jewels, presented on the pillow under Kurt’s hips. He loves this, loves Kurt so accommodating and responsive, loves that he can really show Kurt how beautiful he is, that Kurt has let him, that they share this now. But Burt needs to continue, is on a schedule that he can’t risk.   
  
Burt smooths his hands over Kurt’s cheeks, gently touches Kurt’s perineum, walks his fingers up to pull Kurt’s ass apart, slowly, gently, no move a surprise.

Compared to a week ago, Kurt’s little asshole is a wreck. Puffy and reddened, it looks used, gaping and slippery with the worm’s secretions. Burt rubs his thumb around the rim and Kurt flutters underneath him, his asshole mouthing and glistening in the harsh light of the lamp.   
  
“Can you clench up? Close up, kiddo,” Burt asks him. Kurt’s hole contracts on air, Burt can get the tip of his thumb in it without Kurt completely tightening around him.   
  
Kurt gasps at the feel of Burt’s thumb, and his ass flexes up against Burt’s hands. “I can’t. I don’t think I can,” he breathes on a whimper.   
  
“Okay, no, that’s good, kiddo. That’s good, angel,” Burt tells him, rubbing his thumb against Kurt’s insides, just within his opening. It’ll be better this way, if Kurt is loose and wide for the eggs. It’ll be much easier to expel them too, less chance of damaging them.   
  
Burt quickly continues the inspection, using his thumb to pull softly at the edges of Kurt’s asshole, looking for any tears or serious damage. Kurt is patient, if a little fidgety, and other than the swelling it looks good, whole. Perfect.  
  
“Ugh, it itches,” Kurt whispers, attempting to push his ass up around Burt’s thumb, rocking in little trembling circles. Burt sucks in a breath. His dick is huge and heavy and completely erect, swaying between his legs, has been since he began the inspection, and Kurt’s sweet obedience, his trust under his father’s hands...it isn’t helping.   
  
“Here bud, that better?” Burt asks, carefully replacing his thumb with two fingers, dipping them into Kurt’s hole, rubbing them delicately against the walls of his anus.   
  
“Mmmmm,” Kurt goans into his forearm, hitching his ass against Burt’s fingers. “More, please Dad,” he asks, muffled.   
  
“Okay, okay.” Burt reaches deeper into Kurt, Kurt’s hole giving easily, his fingers disappearing into the soft heat. Burt gingerly adds the first two fingers of his other hand too, rubbing down the other side of Kurt’s anus. Kurt’s hole gives easily, a barely audible pucker of sound, when Burt gently holds either side of his anus apart, holding it open like a fleshy sock, getting a good look down the channel of Kurt’s ass.  
  
The worm has left Kurt’s anus gleaming and clean, a long, dark pink, tender-looking space. Burt keeps rubbing softly in time to Kurt’s soft little whimpers of relief, slowly moving his fingers in and out, in acute little circles near his sphincter.   
  
Burt thinks of the worm, tucked up inside Kurt, hugged and held tight in his slick walls, and is ridiculously, irrationally jealous.  
  
“That okay, kiddo?” Burt asks again, and his voice shakes.  
  
“So good,” Kurt slurs into his arm, one eye visible over his white shoulder at the head of the bed.   
  
“You want some more? You think you can take some more?” Burt asks, and slowly stands up on shaky legs, fingers still working Kurt’s hole, but his dick on full display, big and mushroom-headed.   
  
Kurt’s eye widens and he lifts his head, mouth open, lips just as slick as his hole. There is no mistaking what Burt is asking him. Burt moves so that the head of his cock taps the crack of Kurt’s ass below the lazy rubbing of his fingers. Kurt jerks and whines, letting his head drop back down and tipping his ass in Burt’s hands.   
  
He’s breathing like a broken set of bagpipes, loud and noisy, as he uses all four fingers to stretch Kurt open, to create a little red bud of shiny flesh, nearly pulling Kurt inside out. The huge head of his dick eclipses it, pushes Kurt’s anus back in, sinking easily and completely into Kurt’s hole, slipping his fingers free as he bottoms out.  
  
It feels like a pussy around Burt, scorching hot and pulsing with Kurt’s urgent little clenches. “Ahhhh,” Burt explodes, expelling the breath he was holding and just letting the sloppy suck of Kurt’s abused little hole twitch around him. Nothing will ever match this feeling; cradled in Kurt, connected to him in the most intimate and loving way possible.   
  
Burt begins to move, slow, dragging pushes, trying to reach all the aching, itching places up deep in Kurt, his dick like steel.

“Aghhh,  _jesus_ ,” he swears, thumbing Kurt’s cheeks wide, really wide, pulling him open so Burt can press his dick in as far as he can, reach all the places the worm does too.   
  
Kurt is blubbering and whining under him, his weakness abating, can’t stop freting and arching around Burt’s dick crammed deep in his anus. It drives Burt’s strokes into a blitz of fast and hard and short, creating his own friction within Kurt’s loose hole.  
  
He comes so hard that his jizz splashes back out of Kurt, tons of it, white and thick against the dark shine of Kurt’s insides. Burt uses his dick to push it all inside of Kurt, into his lush, rich nest.   
  
“Oh god, oh Kurt, angel, you’re so beautiful,” Burt tells him, trying to catch his breath, kneeling up over Kurt so he can keep his softening penis inside while he digs his hand under Kurt, fists his sweet little cock, the perfect fit for his father’s hand. He tugs Kurt empty, bracketed over him, covering him, eating up his fitful little cries, Kurt’s mouth small and soft under his.   
  
\--  
  
Mindful of the worm in the incubator, Burt still stays tucked up inside of Kurt, spooning around him on the bed, hand cupping the treasure of Kurt’s spent little cock and balls, his mouth in Kurt’s hair.   
  
He twitches closer, his cock threatening to slip from Kurt’s relaxed ass, slippery with so much come and the worm’s lubrication. This must be what the worm feels: warm and untroubled.   
  
“That was so nice, kiddo. You feel better? Not so itchy?” Burt whispers into the dim quiet, kissing Kurt’s skull.   
  
“Mmmm, yeah,” Kurt utters, moving back on Burt’s dick too, making it squelch. “‘s wet,” he mumbles.  
  
Burt chuckles. He came like a dog; hasn’t come that hard or that much since he can remember.   
  
“Don’t you worry, that worm will eat it all up.” Speaking of...Burt starts to pull away, gently untwisting his forearms from Kurt’s clutching hands. He has to get the worm back inside Kurt, give up his spot.   
  
“Wait,” Kurt stops him, wrapping an ankle around Burt’s. “Just...just a few more minutes,” he whispers, screwing his ass back more firmly onto Burt’s penis.   
  
“Yes, okay, angel.” Burt lies back down, holding Kurt close again. The worm will have to wait.


	5. The Harvest

When the worm is finally ready to lay, Burt is disappointed. 

Sure it means only another day until he can get the worms shipped and the payments coming in. And the money is nice, no doubt about it, especially since the downturn hit Lima. 

But the worm ready to lay also marks the end of the breeding. The end of Kurt ruddy and glowing in his restraints, warm and yielding under Burt’s hands. The end of their contented little coexistence in the murky, impregnable shelter of their peaceful basement. Back to long days at the garage, and Kurt busy with his friends, with his fashion, with his texts. Needing Burt less and less. It’s disheartening. 

The lay begins with a tell-tale paralyzation. The first season Burt had been terrified; Kurt had sagged in his restraints like he’d been tazed, barely enough control left in his nervous system to let him breathe and blink. Now Burt knows better than to panic, than to upset Kurt as well. It’s just the worm excreting its final hyper dosage of sedation, ensuring that the host remains unmoving while the worm backs out and reinserts its tail for the lay. 

Even knowing this, it’s a shock; it still sends a sickening pang of fear through Burt. The paralyzation is so thorough that Kurt looks corpse-loose on the bed, and Burt needs to palm Kurt’s sternum for a few minutes, feel his heartbeat, sluggish but measured. Kurt’s breath puffs lightly against Burt’s cheek when he lowers his face to Kurt’s mouth. But no sound. It’s eerie, knowing Kurt is conscious through it all. 

Burt removes the restraints and can’t help lingering at Kurt’s groin, stroking the roundness of his abdomen. It’s alluring; drum-taut and in such pretty contrast to Kurt’s spare, lanky frame. Burt will miss it. Will miss the way Kurt’s sweet little erections curved up around the silhouette of his stomach. 

Clearing the bed, Burt gently lifts Kurt to the head of it, maneuvering himself behind Kurt, cradling Kurt between his own thighs. It’s more manageable this way, to ease up Kurt’s graceful legs, hook them behind each of Burt’s knees and pull them high and wide. It leaves his hands free to position Kurt’s head comfortably against Burt’s shoulder, to soothe and stroke around Kurt’s prone asshole, laid bare and vulnerable while they wait. 

“There we go, kiddo,” Burt tells him, nosing a kiss to Kurt’s forehead. “You’re so beautiful, you’re doing so well.” 

\--

They don’t have long to wait. Soon the worm is inching back out of Kurt’s relaxed body, swollen and enormous between Kurt’s legs. Burt keeps his hands clear, doesn’t interrupt the worm in case it considers him a threat. 

Kurt is unnaturally still against him, should be roiling and craning with the force of the worm emerging. But the only reaction Burt can detect is a slight increase in his breathing. So Burt does his best to support him, to keep Kurt grounded and secure while the worm squeezes out, inch by laborious inch. 

“That’s it, angel. He’s almost there.” Burt palms Kurt’s limp thighs in long strokes as the worm finally pulls free with a soft sucking sound. The worm noses blindly in the air for a moment or two, then slowly tapers itself around, poking at Kurt’s ass with its backend. 

Burt carefully cups Kurt’s scrotum up and away for a better view. The worm’s ass is thick and bubbled with the eggs in its sack, and it tastes at Kurt’s loose-rimmed hole like a giant, blunt white cock. 

It never fails to shake Burt, seeing the worm like this, exposed and single-minded. It’s hard to believe the whole thing fits up into Kurt, the way it bunches and gathers in a thick coil as it turns, the size of a small, sturdy dog.

The worm has no distractions: it inserts about a quarter of its length back into Kurt, unhurried, undulating as it works itself firmly into Kurt’s asshole. Looking down Kurt’s long form is a gorgeous sight; Kurt takes the worm back beautifully. 

“Can you feel that, angel? It’s filling you back up, putting all those eggs in nice and deep for you to take care of.” 

A breathy whimper against Burt’s neck; the sedation beginning to wear off. 

“Good boy, there you go, he’s almost done.” 

The worm ripples with each egg it feeds into Kurt, a wave of motion from nose to end. Burt counts 12, maybe 13, he won’t know the final count until the harvest. It doesn’t matter, the clutch is huge, at least four more than last season’s. 

When the worm is done it slips free with a squelch, its thick body shuddering. A string of milky fluid stretched from its gaping backend to Kurt’s asshole, only breaking when the worm inches a ways down the bed and then lies still. 

Kurt has regained enough control to flinch in Burt’s arms, so Burt hurries to lay him back down on his side, arms carefully positioned so to not cut off circulation. He removes the worm without a fuss, out of Kurt’s line of sight, not wanting to stress Kurt out. It’s hard for his son, seeing the worm in death, after nurturing it for so long. Burt understands, but feels no remorse when he bags the worm and takes it upstairs. 

When he returns, Kurt is much more aware, blinking big and slow, his slender hands folded carefully over his stomach. Burt sits half on the bed and pets Kurt’s hair. 

“How are you doing, kiddo?” he asks softly, smoothing down Kurt’s eyebrow, the one he raises adorably when he’s unimpressed. 

Kurt thinks about it for a moment, face slack, then: “‘m okay. Feels weird. Empty,” he croaks. 

Burt wants to tell him that’s because the worm was so big, grew so beautifully huge inside of him. But he knows that talking about the worm will just make Kurt melancholy and weepy. Not good for the eggs. 

“But you’re not empty at all, sweetheart, you’re full of eggs. Maybe more than a dozen,” Burt says consolingly. Kurt smiles a little, still sleepy. 

“Really? Tha’s good.” 

“It’s fantastic, kiddo. You were amazing. Such a good boy,” Burt smiles back. He squeezes Kurt’s shoulder. “I’m going to check on them and then you can sleep, okay bud?” 

“‘kay,” Kurt says, nuzzling into the pillow Burt fluffs and slips under his cheek. 

Burt lays a clean sheet over Kurt, tucks it up under his neck. Then he moves to his stool, neatly folding the sheet up over Kurt’s hip so his bottom is exposed. Burt’s suddenly overcome with love: this is his baby boy, his angel. And he’s the perfect host. Two weeks of sustaining the worm and not a single peep of complaint. He leans forward and lays a line of closed-mouthed, closed-eyed kisses along the side of Kurt’s thigh. 

“Dad,” Kurt laughs softly, like the kisses are ticklish. 

“I am so proud of you,” Burt tells him, his voice thick.

Kurt just smiles, his old soul shining through, and unburies a hand from the sheet to lay it on the side of Burt’s face. Burt catches the hand, brings it to his mouth, puts kisses on Kurt’s palm too. “I’ll be quick, okay, kiddo?” 

“‘kay, Dad.” Kurt draws his hand back up to clutch the sheet under his chin. 

Bringing the light closer, and carefully lifting Kurt’s cheek, reveals his asshole to be more swollen and gaping than Burt’s ever seen it. 

“Oh, angel,” he tsks in sympathy, tracing the edges of Kurt’s ragged hole with two fingers, making Kurt’s hole flinch a wink. It’s so red and tender and puffy. Burt dips his fingers in up to the first knuckle; gives himself ten seconds of remembering what it felt like to submerge his cock in the warm, slippery sheath of Kurt’s anus.

As if reading his mind (or maybe his unintentional groans), Kurt pushes back on his fingers, thighs flexing. 

“Mmmm, that feels good. Please Dad...” he says, hushed and breathless. “Please..will you...?”

Burt pauses. “What, kiddo? What do you want?”

Kurt is twisting the sheet in his hand, biting two knuckles. 

“Can you...inside of me?” he whispers, closing his eyes, like he’s ashamed to ask, like Burt wouldn’t give him everything he wants. 

Burt groans and leans his head on Kurt’s round little hip. He is rock hard, shaking with it, his breath tremoring as he tries to catch oxygen. 

With trembling hands he stretches Kurt’s hole open, spreading him gaping wide. Uses his palms flat against Kurt’s cheeks, like he’s smoothing out dough, nearly pushing Kurt up the bed in his desperation, making Kurt grunt. 

Kurt’s insides glisten with the worm’s trail, and there, nestled down in the shadows of his anus, not far from his hole, is the dull sheen of an egg. It’s white, soft and rubbery like a snake egg, a little bigger than a golf ball. Snug up in Kurt, held safe by the radiant walls of Kurt’s dark-pink burrow. 

It’s too close. Freshly laid, the eggs are too fragile, too temperamental. Burt could stick just the tip of his dick in; swirl it around, roll it into the swollen flesh of Kurt’s opening, fill Kurt like he’s asking, even just a little. But Burt knows it would be too risky, that once his dick is surrounded by that sucking heat, he won’t be able to control himself. Or he’ll give himself a heart-attack trying. 

“God damn it,” he curses, and lets go of one cheek to grab his cock, vigorously leaking at the tip. 

“I’m sorry angel, I’m sorry. I can’t. You’re too full of eggs. Don’t want to hurt them, okay?”

Kurt whines, rolls a little, presenting his ass, the sheet slipping down to gather in his back. He looks utterly wanton, spine arching, his puckered, loose hole mouthing at air. “Please...,” he winces into the pillow. 

“Gah,” Burt practically shouts, grabbing Kurt by the thigh, both to support himself and to thumb Kurt’s cheek further open, display his loose, puffy hole. Burt starts jacking himself frantically, grunting like he’s pumping a well, standing and bringing himself closer, so the big shiny head of his dick hovers over the gape of Kurt’s little anus. 

His thumb, rhythmically dragging at the plump, swollen mound of Kurt’s hole, pulling it open, sinks in and stretches Kurt’s anus, giving Burt another peek at the foremost egg. Just a flash of white in the depths and Burt is coming like a machine gun, shooting ropey, pearly gouts of come. They land on Kurt’s ass cheek, his hole, even inside, dripping down into the darkness there. 

“Gaaahhh, gah,” Burt huffs through his orgasm, pulled to the balls of his feet with the strength of it. Under his hand Kurt is rubbing the head of his own softening penis through the puddle of come he made on the bed, whimpering and straining for friction without flopping on his filled little belly. Burt was so entranced, so captivated by Kurt’s hole, he missed his son’s own pleasure. 

He means to clean up, make Kurt comfortable again, he really does. But right now all he has the energy to do is climb up on the bed behind Kurt and pull him close to his chest. Kurt goes serenely, snuggles back so that Burt’s sticky dick lies in the mess between his thighs, Burt’s mess. 

Kurt is soft and sweet-smelling under his nose, and Burt closes his eyes. 

\--

There is no need to restrain Kurt during gestation, he won’t go anywhere while he nurses the clutch of eggs, and a little movement won’t agitate the eggs like it would the worm. 

Mostly Kurt curls on one side or the other, legs up, instinctively cradling his little belly, humming to it, dreamy. 

Burt uses this, their last day of isolation, preparing everything he needs to ship the hatchlings. He stops periodically to hover over Kurt in the bed, kiss his cheek, his bare shoulder. Put his big hand over Kurt’s low on Kurt’s stomach. The eggs are a still mass in Kurt’s gut, much smaller than the worm. It’s quiet, peaceful, with a sense of conclusion as Burt turns on a few more lamps to better see what he’s doing. 

Burt is on the computer, laboriously ordering courier service with his two-fingered typing, when Kurt speaks from the bed. 

“Dad?” 

“Yeah, bud? You thirsty?” Burt responds absently. 

“No...it’s time.” 

Burt goes to Kurt’s side. His pretty eyes are big and sad, looking up at Burt. 

“You sure?” Burt asks, smoothing back Kurt’s hair. He doesn’t want it to end: the thought of Kurt not here, in this bed, sweet and docile for Burt, it’s agonizing. But Kurt nods, his hand caressing the bulge beneath his navel. 

“Okay, hang tight.” 

Burt readies the incubator and lays clean towels under Kurt’s ass. Kurt is already sweating, the cramps making him seize up like a little shrimp on a cracker. 

It takes a long time. Each egg emerges from Kurt’s abused little asshole like a cue ball, stretching him round and taut and slick. The eggs have much less give, having hardened within Kurt. They move, sucked in and out of Kurt’s straining hole with each push, poreless and smooth, Kurt’s anus reluctant to give them up, his hole stretching like lips around each one. 

Burt catches them deftly, creating a little cup for each egg with moist cloths, placing them in the incubator. 

There are thirteen in total, every egg perfectly formed, the shadow of a healthy, chubby worm moving within each when Burt holds them to the light. 

“Ah, there we go, you’re doing so well, kiddo.” Burt keeps up a constant stream of praise and encouragement, petting Kurt’s legs and ass between each push. He feels a bit helpless listening to Kurt’s grunts as he works, pushing the eggs carefully out of himself. 

Kurt cries softly as Burt plumbs Kurt’s anus with four fingers, holding Kurt’s hip as he reaches high into Kurt’s heat, making sure that all the eggs have emerged. Kurt doesn’t cry from pain; Burt’s fingers fit beautifully and easily, Kurt still slick. Rather, he cries from the loss. From being totally empty and free, his little worms leaving him for good. 

Burt holds Kurt gathered to his chest, rocking and shushing him, the eggs gleaming in the incubator beside them. 

“You’re the best there is, angel,” Burt murmurs into the top of Kurt’s head, Kurt sniffling into his neck. Burt strokes Kurt’s sides, fondles his hip. Kurt feels too skinny, almost expended. None the less, Burt asks the same question he does every season.

“Can you breed another one, sweetheart? Do you want some more eggs?” 

Burt could keep two of the eggs back, fertilize one, then reimplant Kurt in a month or so, once he’d regained his energy. The worm would be immeasurably strong, especially if he could get Kurt lactating. A fertilized worm, gaining length while latching to the tips of Kurt’s pretty little nipples. Burt fucking his son, with his dick, with his hand, keeping Kurt loose and open while Kurt lifts a young worm to his chest. The very thought has Burt poking Kurt obscenely in the thigh with his erection. 

And then, another two weeks of Kurt restrained and pleasured by the very worm he raised to maturity. Who knows how large a worm from such a successful harvest might become, how round and tight Kurt’s stomach would grow. 

Burt’s hand slips down from Kurt’s hip to his ass, needing to feel him, finger the loose gape one more time before Kurt gives him the same answer he does every season. 

“Another big fat worm up in there, making you feel good, growing so big,” Burt whispers idly. 

“Alright,” Kurt says, so nonchalantly that Burt does a double take. 

“What? Really? You want to breed again, angel?” Burt confirms, pulling his hand out of Kurt and leaning back to look into Kurt’s tear-stained eyes. 

Kurt smiles crookedly, his head tipping back over Burt’s arm. “Yeah, Dad. Really.” 

Burt crushes Kurt back to his chest, kisses his cheek, his nose, the clever space between his eyes.

“I love you, kiddo. More than anything.”

“I love you too, Dad.”


	6. AU Study

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In response to [questions from an anon on the GKM](http://glee-kink-meme.livejournal.com/32650.html?thread=47446922#t47446922) here are some details about the world of worm breeding.

Oh Anon, you got me all thinky, my favourite state of being. Thank you so much for commenting! In case you’re watching, here are some answers to your questions. I don’t really foresee a sequel unless jemima_oxford prompts one because hey, she was the one who sparked the delicious deviance that is worm breeding. So if anyone else out there is hurtin’ for more wormin’, you should let her know. :D

_Does Burt keep having sex with Kurt after the breeding is done?_

I would say yes! They’ve been through four seasons of breeding together now and this season has (obviously) awakened Kurt’s sexuality. Which Burt is not going to handle casually. He legitimately loves Kurt in every way possible, and will do anything for (and to) him until Kurt is ready to move on. In a perfect world they will be together and (very) sexually active for the duration of Kurt living at home, after which Burt will push him out of the nest. Burt loves Kurt in all ways, but as a father first and foremost, so making sure that Kurt lives a happy life with lots of opportunity will be his first wish. 

_How much do worms cost?_

In my head, the average pleasure worm is about $2,000 USD. But by the fourth season, the demand is so high for Burt’s worms that he can charge about $3,000 for each one. A young, unfertilized pleasure worm, if maintained properly, will last several months, so it’s a reasonable investment if you’re really into butt stuff. Which, in this reality, people are. A breeder worm, like the kind Kurt hosts, typically cost from $10-15,000. So the ROI for Burt’s original worm was about $26,000. For two weeks ‘work’. And so solves the mystery of how Kurt can afford so many designer fashions. 

_How does Kurt feed the baby worm?_

Okay, time to suspend (some more) disbelief. I don’t know? What I DO know is that as I was writing up the story, the image of Kurt breastfeeding a worm was so hot I almost passed out, so it had to go in. Who knew I had a lactation kink? So unexpected. Anyways, it’s the vision of the worm’s little blind sucky mouth attached to the very tip of Kurt’s pebbled little adolescent nipple. Of Kurt, head bent to his naked chest, nourishing the worm and loving it, Burt watching proudly. Maybe Burt getting in there and soothing Kurt’s sore nipples with his big soft tongue, then being overtaken with the urge to suck from them too, turning Kurt on like crazy. Kurt reclining in a bed, cradling the worm to his peaked little nipple, watching Burt get really big and hard, then opening his legs in invitation, like some sort of twisted virgin Mary figure, gently feeding the worm while Burt ruts into him like a man possessed.

ANYWAYS, that’s what does it for me. Boy, just a slew of new kinks I didn’t know I had. Good times. 

Thanks again for reading and I’m glad you’ve enjoyed the story!


End file.
